


Nothing Like the Sun

by TheShinySword



Category: BanG Dream! (Anime), BanG Dream! Girl's Band Party! (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Future Fic, Shakespearean Sonnets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25698691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShinySword/pseuds/TheShinySword
Summary: Moca has trouble sleeping one night, Chisato helps.
Relationships: Aoba Moca/Shirasagi Chisato
Comments: 9
Kudos: 60





	Nothing Like the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Just something soft and quick.

Chisato had been dreaming about something lovely but by the time her eyes were open her brain had switched its processes entirely to figuring out why she was still awake when the sun was still so happily at rest and she forgot the dream entirely. The answer was simple enough to determine at least: Moca sitting up in her bed, outlined by the hint of moonlight from the window, with her head in her hands.

“Moca?” Chisato reached for her girlfriend’s hazy form. Fingers landed on Moca’s forearm, running across the delicate hairs resting on her skin.

The quiet woman stirred from whatever place her thoughts had taken her. Moca turned, knowing Chisato’s face by memory more than sight, and smiled in the slight and tired way she did when it was very late at night and she knew she wouldn’t be getting to sleep. With two dull taps, she hit the side of her head with her pointer finger, “Go back to sleep. ‘Ol Moca’s just got a full head tonight.”

But it was Chisato’s job to worry now and she took pride in her work. “Only if you’re with me.” It was no use asking Moca what was on her mind, Chisato could sneak it out of Moca in the day but by moonlight the Aoba fortress was too heavily guarded to allow an intrusion. At least on nights like this when Moca was too thoughtful for her own good. Someday she’d realize Chisato couldn’t sleep well without her anymore. She shifted and opened her arms to Moca, gesturing for her girlfriend to nestle against her chest.

“You have to get up so early~,” Moca reminded Chisato as her body betrayed her attempted restraint and eased towards Chisato’s embrace.

“Come here.” With a slow but forceful tug, Chisato pulled Moca the rest of the way down. All of Moca’s resolve to stoically bear whatever burdened her brain crumpled the moment her head hit Chisato’s chest. She curled around Chisato’s thin frame as Chisato’s arm secured over her back and up to her her head, fingers tangling in Moca’s cropped and jagged hair. Softly, Chisato began to stroke her girlfriend’s hair to the sounds of hush, meaningless murmuring.

Moca shuddered with one long breathy tremor from the very top of her head down to her feet, intertwined with her partner’s. “Chisato…” She whispered the name into the cotton of her own well worn t-shirt now serving as Chisato’s pajamas.

“Shh,” Chisato cooed with the repeating strokes of her hand. “Just listen to my voice.” Chisato searched the library of her mind for something to say—some long memorized script or story—and settled on an old poem, one of her very favorites: Shakespeare’s sonnet 130. It was something like a love poem, though nothing like the many she’d heard from actors’ lips.

“My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun. Coral is far more red than her lips’ red.”

Moca hummed with Chisato’s voice, feeling the sound more than hearing it with her ear set just over Chisato’s constant beating heart. “You’re making fun of poor Moca~?”

“It’s only poetry Moca Aoba,” Chisato laughed, twisting uneven silver hairs around her finger. Moca’s hair was due to be buzzed—Moca’s hair had not understandable styling otherwise—but it was so fluffy like this. She continued, “If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun? If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.”

“Literary negging,” Moca murmured with a nuzzling smile. “Aren’t you supposed to call me a star?”

“This suits you more.”

She giggled comfortably. “Hoho~.”

“I have seen roses damasked, red and white.” Chisato moved her hand down to Moca’s cheek. She pressed with loving fingertips into the soft and pliable skin, marked with the bumps and divots of someone who never had to worry about HD cameras. “But no such roses see I in her cheeks.”

Chisato traced Moca’s lips—dry and cracked no matter how much lip gloss Chisato foisted on her. “And in some perfumes is there more delight, than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.”

“Hehe.” Moca squeezed Chisato’s arm with nails bitten short and calloused fingers. “Reeks.”

“I love to hear her speak, yet well I know, that music hath a far more pleasing sound.” Chisato let her hand fall to Moca’s thin, boney shoulder. It was a wonder Moca was ever warm when her body so refused to hold onto any fat that might keep her bones from rattling. “I grant I never saw a goddess go, my mistress when she walks treads on the ground.”

“I dunno know what you’re saying…” Moca’s voice grew deep and even more languid than her usual prolonged patter, muffled against Chisato. “…but you sound… so warm.”

“That’s iambic pentameter.” Chisato gently tapped along Moca’s shoulder—short and long interchanging as a theater teacher had shown her so long ago. “Ba bum, Ba bum, Ba bum, Ba bum, Ba bum.”

“It’s like your heartbeat…” Moca muttered, the words drifting off at the ends as her breathing evened out and her consciousness finally found a place to rest.

Chisato’s heartbeat kept the meter steady as she waited for Moca to settle into her slumber. “My Moca…” she whispered, not wanting to wake Moca but needed very much to hear the words out loud. “You fell asleep before the couplet. It’s my favorite part.”

There was no need to continue—Moca surely couldn’t hear—but Chisato hated to leave things unfinished. So she recited to the darkness and the dreaming form on the woman she…

“And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare, as any she belied with false compare.”

…loved.

What a queer and quiet revelation it was. There were supposed to be fireworks, weren’t there? A light maybe, a glow as powerful as the sun itself that would blind Chisato with its glory and warmth and some such nonsense. Well, the warmth was real even if it was just from Moca’s body settling on top of hers. But no symphonies played in her mind, no flowers blossomed in her chest. There was only the sound of Moca’s somnolent breathing keeping time with Chisato’s heart.

Still, Chisato smiled. No simile or metaphor could possibly bear the weight of this love. She almost wanted to prod Moca awake and tell her the news. That’s how things were now, Chisato was always going to want Moca to hear her good news first. But instead she raised her head just enough to lay a kiss on the crown of the woman she loved and breath in the faint smell of baked bread and home.

“I love you.”

There’d be time to tell her later.


End file.
